


A Friendly Request Between Two Special Agents

by toyhto



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Post-Canon, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: It's just a friendly request between two Special Agents, my dudes.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 29
Kudos: 123





	A Friendly Request Between Two Special Agents

**Author's Note:**

> "Idiots to Lovers" is a bit misleading because they don't stop being idiots.
> 
> Here's [my tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com), my dudes.

”Napoleon?”  
  
”Yeah?”  
  
”I have a request for you.”  
  
”You have?”  
  
”Yes.”  
  
“And what is it?”  
  
“I am sexually frustrated.”  
  
Napoleon put his cup of coffee on the table and pulled his shoulders back. His neck cracked. That was also how he felt. He turned to look at the doorway to the kitchen, in the house the three of them had been staying in for a few months now for their current mission. Illya was looming there at the doorway like a KGB agent.  
  
Napoleon cleared his throat. He liked to think he was a man who almost never needed further explanations, but this might be an exception. “You’re what?”  
  
“Sexually frustrated,” Illya said, staring at Napoleon as if it was his fault. There was nothing special about that. Illya always looked at Napoleon that way. But there definitely was something wrong with the way Illya said ‘sexually’. Napoleon never wanted to hear Illya say it again and also he kind of needed the tape of Illya saying it. For what purposes, he wasn’t sure yet.  
  
“You’re sexually frustrated,” he repeated, coughed and sipped his coffee. _Oh, god._ He bet Illya was, indeed, sexually frustrated. They had been partners for almost a year now and he hadn’t seen any evidence that Illya might be having anything sexual-related going on, except he was almost sure that he had once heard Illya jerking off in a locked bathroom.  
  
What he didn’t understand was what Illya wanted him to do about it. He wasn’t going to be Illya’s wingman. Illya was tall like an ambitious statue and distractingly handsome in a Russian agent way. Sure, even Illya’s softest glares were slightly murderous, but there were a lot of people who liked that kind of a thing. Illya didn’t need a wingman. What Illya needed was to leave the house and meet new people, which actually might be a little tricky, because for the last weeks Illya had seemed to follow Napoleon everywhere, including the sofa in the living room. Napoleon hadn’t exactly minded. Illya was great company: mostly silent but would assist Napoleon in killing anyone who broke into the flat in order to kidnap them. And he would brag about it afterwards in the most infuriating way that made Napoleon feel more alive than sex.  
  
Napoleon cleared his throat, opened his mouth and then closed it again. Illya seemed to be waiting for his answer, which was bad, because he didn’t have one, and also he was now getting a little distracted himself. He hadn’t had much sex lately, unless you counted the sex he was having with himself, and why wouldn’t you? It was excellent. But sometimes he wanted to touch another person. Luckily Illya sometimes wanted to wrestle with him. Illya never said that out loud, but there were subtle hints, such as when Illya walked to him the first thing in the morning, accused him of making bad coffee, grabbed him by the waist and threw him on the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said to Illya. He was more curious than sorry but he could fake being a gentleman. “Have you tried jerking off?”  
  
Illya looked a little offended. “That does not help.”  
  
“Hmm,” Napoleon said. “It doesn’t?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Alright,” Napoleon said and rubbed his chin. Illya was still looking at him. There seemed to be no way out of this conversation, since Illya was blocking the doorway. Napoleon certainly wouldn’t have minded a little bit of wrestling, but to be completely honest, he was getting a little hard in his pants. That had happened to him many times when he had been wrestling with Illya, but the situation seemed different somehow now that they were already discussing the subject – quite inadequately, though. He still didn’t know what Illya was trying to say to him. “Peril,” he said and sighed.  
  
“Yes?” Illya asked immediately, leaning closer like an unstable statue in hard wind.  
  
“What’re you trying to say to me?”  
  
Illya blinked. “I said that I am sexually frustrated.”  
  
Napoleon swallowed. “Yes, I heard that. I just… I don’t want to be your wingman. You’re perfectly capable of finding someone who finds your face and your body and your accent and your infuriatingly blunt manner of handing hostile foreign agents sexually arousing. You don’t need my help with that.”  
  
Illya stared at him for a moment. He tugged at the crotch of his trousers under the table, and when that didn’t help, sprawled his legs.  
  
“I do not want you to be my wingman,” Illya said. “I said I have a request for you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Napoleon said.  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“You didn’t say what your request _is_ ,” he said. “And stop staring at me like that.”  
  
Illya frowned, staring at him. “Like what?”  
  
He cleared his throat. “As if you’re asking me to take care of the situation.”  
  
Illya blinked.  
  
“I mean,” Napoleon said slowly, because this conversation wasn’t going anywhere and he really needed to get into the bathroom and get a hand in his pants, “you’re looking at me like you want me to fix your sexual frustration.”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said.  
  
“Yeah, so I thought,” Napoleon said and then froze. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“You can fix it,” Illya said in his most stubborn voice. It was the same voice he used when he told Napoleon about _the Russian way._  
  
Napoleon grabbed his cup of coffee with both hands. “I can fix what?”  
  
“My sexual frustration,” Illya said, and then he made a weird gesture. It took Napoleon a few seconds to comprehend that Illya really had just pointed at his own crotch. It took him a few mores seconds to realize he was now staring at Illya’s crotch, which was a disappointment by the way, because the fabric was hiding whatever was going on in Illya’s pants just as well as usually. Not that Napoleon had been glancing at Illya’s crotch much, and what counted as ‘much’, anyway? He was just curious and had been ever since he had once suggested they’d go to sauna together and Illya had snorted at him and walked away.  
  
He blinked and shook his head. Then he took a deep breath. Then he tugged at the front of his trousers again. “Peril,” he said, “I know this is the first time, but I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying.”  
  
Illya looked slightly offended. He always looked slightly offended, but now there seemed to be a new shade in it. “If you are not willing, I understand.”  
  
“Of course I’m willing,” Napoleon said. He had never not been willing about anything in his life, which admittedly had got him into considerable amount of trouble. But he wasn’t going to change his ways now. “Willing to do what?”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“Peril,” he said. His heartbeat was speeding up, which reminded him of the times he had seen through the half-opened bathroom door as Illya brushed his teeth wearing nothing but boxers, socks, and a tank top. “I need words. A few more words.”  
  
Illya said something in Russian that Napoleon didn’t understand.  
  
“Can you repeat that?”  
  
Illya said the same thing again, a little more slowly this time, but sounding even angrier. Now Napoleon could make sense of ‘can you’ and ‘me’ and ‘but gently’. The whole message was still a bit unclear, though. He took a deep breath, stood up, walked to Illya and lifted his chin to look Illya in the eyes. It was maybe a little unsafe to be so close to Illya. Illya smelled faintly of cologne and toothpaste and if Napoleon had wanted, he could have rested his head against Illya’s shoulder which was exactly at the right height. Of course Illya would have then tackled him onto the floor, but what was a bit of friendly violence between two Special Agents?  
  
“My Russian seems a little rusty,” he said. Normally he would have never admitted anything like that, but he feeling a little intellectually compromised now, probably from standing so close to Illya. And the way Illya snored at him was just _delightful._ “There were a few words I didn’t catch. Peril, what exactly do you want of me?”  
  
Illya stared at him very seriously. “Your penis.”  
  
“My…” Well, Illya could have it. “Okay.”  
  
“In the bedroom.”  
  
Oh. So, yeah, now he though he was getting the general idea of Illya’s request. He really needed to learn the Russian words he had just missed. “Right now?”  
  
Illya glanced down at Napoleon’s crotch.  
  
“Fair point,” Napoleon said and tried to take a step, but Illya hadn’t yet moved away from the doorway. “Shall we go?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said and turned. Napoleon followed him. Apparently they were going to do this in his bedroom and not Illya’s, but he was a little too distracted to even think about having an argument about that. He could clean the sheets later. And he still wasn’t exactly sure what was going to happen. He had a few possible scenarios in his mind, though.  
  
Illya went to Napoleon’s bedroom. Napoleon followed him and turned to close the door behind him.  
  
“Really?” Gaby asked. She was sitting in the armchair in the living room. For some reason she didn’t like to have her morning coffee in the kitchen with Napoleon. “You’re going to do it right now? When I’m _right here?_ ”  
  
“You could go for a walk,” Napoleon said and closed the door.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Napoleon liked to think that over the time they had been working together, he had become quite an expert at reading Illya’s stares. Illya was communicating a lot through them. There was a specific quality in his way of staring at Napoleon that indicated he was hungry, or that he was sleep-deprived, or that he was hurt, or that he was slightly scared, or that he was terrified and didn’t want Napoleon to ever find out. And there certainly was something very familiar about the way Illya was staring at Napoleon right now, but still Napoleon had a tiny problem trying to recognize this exact stare. The door behind them was closed, he was standing next to his bed, and Illya was standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes on Napoleon, his mouth unhappily pressed tight, and being tall and distractingly handsome like always.  
  
“So,” Napoleon said and cleared his throat. Maybe it was for the best if he got straight to the point. They had been standing here in the bedroom for at least two minutes now, staring at each other, which wasn’t going to fix Napoleon’s arousal. Or maybe it was, but he wanted to get rid of his pants first. “You want my penis, then,” he said.  
  
“If you are amenable,” Illya said, perfectly seriously.  
  
“I am,” Napoleon said, nodding, “I am, indeed.”  
  
“Good,” Illya said, staring at him as if he was waiting for Napoleon to do something about it.  
  
“And,” Napoleon said, “what exactly do you want to do with my penis?”  
  
Illya stared at him as if he was stupid. He was used to that. He smiled at Illya until Illya blinked.  
  
“I thought I already said it,” Illya said. “Twice.”  
  
“In Russian.”  
  
“You speak Russian.”  
  
“Of course I speak Russian,” Napoleon said. What a morning, to be accused of not speaking Russian. “I’m just not familiar with a few words in your proposal.”  
  
“Which words?” Illya asked and then repeated the words.  
  
“Yes. Those.”  
  
Illya frowned.  
  
“I just want to know,” Napoleon said, “what you have in mind. I have a very good record of not being a disappointment in bed, and the most essential factor in that is communication. Do you want to touch my penis? Or just look at it? Or do you want me to touch you with it? And where exactly? And how many times? And what do you think of kissing?”  
  
“Maybe this was a mistake,” Illya said. Now the way he was staring at Napoleon was leaning towards ‘slightly scared’. He glanced at the closed door.  
  
Napoleon stepped to the door. He was perfectly aware that if Illya wanted to, he could remove Napoleon from the door in less than two minutes. First, he would put his big hands on Napoleon’s shoulders. Then, he would probably grab Napoleon’s waist and tug him, trying to make him lose his balance. When that wouldn’t work out the way he wanted, he would slam his body against Napoleon’s, trapping Napoleon between himself and the door, and while Napoleon would be unable to breathe, he would tackle Napoleon onto the floor and maybe follow him, and there he would push his careful fingers under Napoleon’s shirt, dig his fingertips into Napoleon’s ribs and push his knee up to press against Napoleon’s crotch -  
  
Oh. _Shit._ The wrong fantasy.  
  
“Listen,” Napoleon said and smiled a little. “What if I just guess and you nod if I’m right?”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
“Okay.” Napoleon cleared his throat. “Do you want me to fuck you?”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
“Okay,” Napoleon said and realized vaguely that he was nodding, too. He frowned. “Really?”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
“Okay,” Napoleon said. He had a funny feeling that he had more problems getting a metaphorical grip of the situation than he normally did. That was probably Illya’s fault somehow. He stepped to Illya and put his hand on Illya’s shoulder. Illya didn’t remove it. “Have you done it before?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon blinked. “Yes?”  
  
Illya stared at him as if he was stupid.  
  
“I haven’t,” he said. “But I’m sure I’ll be excellent.”  
  
Illya snorted at him. That was encouraging enough that he put his other hand on Illya’s other shoulder. Illya’s shoulders were really nice. He brushed his thumbs against Illya’s clavicles through the fabric of the black turtleneck. Illya had thirty-two of those shirts. Napoleon had counted them once when he had been trying to friendly bug Illya. He supposed that had been last week. The next morning, he had found out that Illya had once again bugged his favorite slippers. How rude.  
  
“I think we need lube,” he said, thinking about his slippers. As a revenge, he had bugged Illya’s toothbrush. That had been a mistake. Illya had spotted the bug immediately and then hadn’t removed it, which had led to uncomfortable ten minutes of Napoleon listening amplified sounds of Illya brushing his teeth behind the bathroom door. When Illya had been finished, he had walked to Napoleon, thrown the bug at him and told him that the next time, he was going to make Napoleon eat the bug. He hadn’t, though. But they had wrestled a little in the living room and a lamp had got broken. Gaby had been angry about that.  
  
“I have lube,” Illya said now.  
  
“You have?”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“Naturally,” Napoleon repeated, blinking. He seemed to have some trouble concentrating. When he thought about the issue, he realized he was leaning against Illya’s body now and his dick was pressed quite tightly against Illya’s left thigh. So, maybe that was why. He took a deep breath. “You have lube.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Maybe we should use it.”  
  
“We are definitely going to use it,” Illya said. “Cowboy, you are pushing your penis against my thigh. That is not where I want it.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Napoleon said and tried to step back. He couldn’t, though, because Illya grabbed his waist with both hands and moved him to the bed. Well, that was progress. He held onto Illya’s shoulders both for balance and fun and struggled only a little when Illya pushed him onto the mattress and then climbed there after him. “Peril,” he said, when Illya was kind of holding him there on his back, “I believe we should be naked for this.”  
  
“Quiet,” Illya said and then started undressing him. Oh, god. _Oh, god._ He didn’t believe he had ever fantasized about being undressed by Illya Kuryakin, but he was going to. It was truly a shame that he had to close his eyes when Illya finally opened the zipper of his trousers, pushed the trousers down his thighs, tugged at his boxers enough to put his hand inside, and then wrapped fingers around his dick. Truly a shame. He just couldn’t both hold his beans in the jar and see the look on Illya’s face. This was going to be his favorite of all of Illya’s stares from now on.  
  
“Adequate?” he asked, still keeping his eyes closed.  
  
“Yes,” Illya said. He was… well, he was caressing Napoleon’s dick. There was no other word or it. Or maybe _fondle._ Or _pet._ Or _stroke._ Or _grope._ Or _handle carefully as if it’s a cassette with very dangerous nuclear plans in it._ But without the part where they had burned the said cassette. “I was worried it might be too big,” Illya said, his voice perfectly steady. Napoleon risked a glance at his face and then had to bite his lip hard. “I’m glad to see that the size of your ego is not reflected at the size of your penis.”  
  
Napoleon tried to say something like ‘there’s nothing wrong with my ego or my penis’, but right then Illya brushed his thumb against the tip and what Napoleon ended up saying instead was ‘ah’.  
  
“Yes,” Illya said. “It will fit.”  
  
_Bloody heavens and goddamn._ “It will fit?”  
  
“Yes. But this will take a while.” For some reason Napoleon was never going to understand, Illya tucked his dick back into his underpants and then stopped touching it. “I need to get prepared. Can you keep yourself from ejaculating for ten minutes?”  
  
_Oh_. That was why. “I honestly don’t know.”  
  
Illya slapped Napoleon in the face in a nice Russian agent way. Napoleon opened his eyes.  
  
“Not helping,” he said.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“No problem,” Illya said, frowning at him. Another thing that wasn’t helping him at all was that he was lying half-naked on the mattress in front of Illya who was still fully clothed. “So, you find violence sexually stimulating.”  
  
“Not really,” he said. He was beginning to think that maybe he found _Illya_ sexually stimulating. He tried to kick Illya in the thigh. Illya grabbed his ankle and he almost lost it. “I’m afraid it’s you.”  
  
“Me?” Illya said. Then he blinked. “So, that is why you have been aroused every time we have wrestled.”  
  
“Not every time.”  
  
“It is very distracting. I almost lost once because you were pressing your erect penis against my stomach.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry,” Napoleon said, “but I can’t help it. Also, this isn’t exactly easy for me, lying here when you’re staring at me like that.”  
  
“Like what?” Illya asked, staring at him.  
  
Napoleon closed his eyes. “Like that. It’s not helping me to keep it in my pants. I’m terribly afraid that if you want me to fuck you within the next two hours, you’d better get to it or else I’m not going to be much use for you.”  
  
“Okay,” Illya said, and then the mattress shifted. Napoleon took a deep breath. “Maybe it is better if you do not look,” Illya added.  
  
“Yeah,” Napoleon said. That was certainly true. And since he had the mental strength of a stone, he was going to be able to refrain from looking at Illya, even though he supposed what Illya was going to do next was that he was going to get naked and push his own finger into his asshole. So that Napoleon could push his dick there next.  
  
“Do not ejaculate until I say so,” Illya said in his most serious voice, which made Napoleon wriggle a little.  
  
“Sure,” he said, trying not to pant and also trying not to move, because if he moved, his dick would brush against the fabric of his underpants, and that was a little too much. “Easy.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
He thought about sour milk. He thought about blue cheese. He thought about cleaning the toilet – he had done that once and hadn’t liked it. He thought about the way people elbowed each other in a morning train. He thought about being tortured by a Nazi doctor. He thought about cats. He thought about shouting children and nuclear bombs and seeing a dentist and traffic jam and all this helped him immensely, only then Illya made a tiny noise as if he was trying to push his finger into his ass, and Napoleon just couldn’t help himself.  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
Illya was on his knees on the bed right in front of Napoleon. He was facing the mattress, leaning against it with one elbow, and sadly he was positioned so that Napoleon couldn’t quite see what he was doing with his other hand. But judging by the look on his face and their earlier discussion, it seemed quite obvious. Also, he was naked except for his socks, which Napoleon had tried to bug a few weeks ago. It hadn’t gone well.  
  
“You are looking at me,” Illya said, sounding busy.  
  
“Yeah,” Napoleon said.  
  
“I thought we agreed it is better if you do not watch.”  
  
“Yeah. I changed my mind.”  
  
“Well, it is not like seeing me do this is going to affect your self-control.”  
  
He laughed.  
  
“Do not laugh,” Illya said. He sounded hurt. Napoleon didn’t want him to be hurt, not at all. But he also couldn’t stop smiling.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not laughing at _you_ , Peril. Or I am, but in a good way. It’s just… you don’t know how you look.”  
  
“I _do_.”  
  
“No, you don’t know how you look _now_ , and that’s… Peril, you look like you’re naked on the bed in front of me, and you’re trying to push your finger into your own ass so that you can get my dick shoved in there later, and I must tell you that I really appreciate the effort, I really do, and also you look like you maybe want to murder me but not before you get my dick in your ass, and that’s just… You look lovely, Peril.”  
  
“I do not look _lovely_ ,” Illya said, sounding a little breathless. That could have been because he wasn’t accustomed to compliments, or it could have been because of the other thing.  
  
“Sure you do. I’ve thought so from the moment when I first met you. Back then, I remember thinking ‘who is that very tall and handsome Russian agent who’s running after my car and trying to rip it apart’.”  
  
“Your car was very slow.”  
  
“ _You_ are slow.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I need you to know,” Napoleon said, “that if I don’t make it, I still really wanted to. It’s just that I’ve been hard since you came to the kitchen and started talking about how sexually frustrated you are. And seeing you like that is kind of…”  
  
“Stop looking at me, Cowboy.”  
  
He shook his head. “Not going to happen, Peril.”  
  
“I hate you,” Illya said, pulled his finger out of his ass and then crawled to Napoleon on the mattress. “Are you going to be okay if I finish undressing you?”  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
“What if you close your eyes?”  
  
“Still probably not.”  
  
“Damn,” Illya said and then pushed his hand into Napoleon’s boxers. Before Napoleon realized what was happening, Illya had his fingers wrapped around his dick so tightly that there was no way he could come. Or move. Or breathe. “Alright?”  
  
He nodded. Oh, god, it hurt a little.  
  
“Good,” Illya said and started tugging Napoleon’s trousers to his ankles, still not letting go of his dick. He was a little confused about how Illya was able to manage that with only two hands, but admittedly he wasn’t thinking straight. “You are doing well,” Illya told him, and he wanted to tell Illya to stop talking to him like that – what was he, a dog? – and also he wanted Illya not to talk to him any other way ever again.  
  
“What –“ he managed to say, when his trousers and boxers were in his ankles and Illya was crawling closer to him.  
  
“Shh,” Illya said and covered Napoleon’s mouth with his hand. “I am going to let go of your penis now. Can you handle it?”  
  
_No,_ Napoleon thought, but coincidentally he had Illya’s palm on his mouth so he couldn’t really say it. He tried to bite Illya erotically in the finger but right then, Illya let go of his dick.  
  
“Don’t come,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon bit Illya’s finger.  
  
Alright, he licked Illya’s palm. But it was close enough.  
  
“Carefully,” Illya said. He was holding Napoleon’s dick again but gently now, and at the same time, he was adjusting himself as if he was going to sit down in Napoleon’s lap. “Hold your breath,” he said, and sat down in Napoleon’s lap.  
  
Napoleon closed his eyes.  
  
Sour milk.  
  
Morning traffic.  
  
Cats.  
  
Nuclear bombs.  
  
Nuclear families.  
  
Laundry.  
  
House plants.  
  
Bathroom.  
  
Illya brushing his teeth in the bathroom -  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
“ _Don’t_ ,” Illya said to him, staring at him with what was going to be his favorite of Illya’s stares from now on. Illya was still holding his dick and was lowering himself on it. Which meant that his dick was half-way inside Illya’s ass. Which meant that what was currently squeezing his dick was Illya’s ass. He couldn’t quite comprehend it. He tried to, but all he could think about was his dick in Illya’s ass.  
  
“Could you speed it up a little?” he asked, his voice coming out a little thin, as if his favorite KGB agent was trying to ride his dick.  
  
“Your penis feels bigger than it looks,” Illya said, sounding awfully disappointed. Napoleon loved him.  
  
“Yeah, I suppose it does,” Napoleon said, trying to breathe. “When it’s in your ass.”  
  
“Stop being smart.”  
  
“I can’t –“  
  
“Yes, you can,” Illya said, grabbed his arm and squeezed it. It didn’t help.  
  
“Peril,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry, and I need you to know that really wanted to be a solution to your sexual frustration, but you’re the prettiest man I’ve ever seen and also the most terrifying, and I don’t think there’s anything you can do to keep me from –“  
  
Illya took a sharp breath and then shifted just a little bit further down. Napoleon could feel his balls brushing against Illya’s ass. Also, he felt as if he was poking Illya’s soul with his dick.  
  
Oh, _shit,_ what a time to find out that he was a romantic after all.  
  
He reached to touch Illya’s stomach that was warm and damp and also trembling a little, and then he came.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried.”  
  
“You did not _try_ ,” Illya said, staring at him. “You looked at me weirdly and then ejaculated.”  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but that was exactly what had happened. “Define _weirdly._ ”  
  
“No,” Illya said. Napoleon felt a little relieved. He had a feeling that in the last seconds before he had come in Illya’s ass, he might have been looking at Illya as if he liked Illya or something. Which he obviously did, and he was sure Illya knew it too. What else would have explained the effort he had put into trying to bug Illya? But they certainly didn’t need to _discuss_ it, bloody _hell._  
  
“Alright, I’m going to go,” Napoleon said and tried to climb out of the bed, but everything in him was soft in a very pleasurable way, including his dick. He only managed to roll onto his left side, which put him face to face with Illya. He felt tired and sticky and flushed. He needed to take a piss and maybe take a shower and then tell Gaby to put the volume on the radio down. It was a mystery why she had the radio so loud in the living room. That could seriously damage her hearing.  
  
“Cowboy?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said to Illya and cleared his throat. He was going to go now. “I like you.”  
  
Illya stared at him with his slightly-surprised-but-then-again-not-really-stare.  
  
“Okay,” he said, when at least three seconds had passed and Illya hadn’t yet said anything. He turned away from Illya and tried to crawl closer to the edge of the mattress.  
  
Illya put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Bathroom, I suppose.”  
  
“Bathroom?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said and then glanced at Illya. That was a mistake. Now he felt as if _Illya_ was poking _his_ soul.  
  
“You can’t go,” Illya said. He looked a little angry now. “You just fucked me.”  
  
Napoleon took a deep breath. “Barely.”  
  
“You _fucked_ me,” Illya said. “For at least fifteen seconds. It counts.”  
  
“I came the moment that I got my dick in your ass. It really doesn’t count as _fucking._ ”  
  
“Yes, it does.”  
  
“No, it doesn’t.”  
  
“I say that it does, so it does.”  
  
“You can’t just _say_ that it does, when it clearly does not.”  
  
“You are not being logical about this,” Illya said. “We _fucked._ ”  
  
“You had to jerk yourself off,” Napoleon said. “And when I tried to help, you pushed my hand away because my grip was, and I quote, _too weak._ ”  
  
“Well, it was too weak,” Illya said. “You barely managed to get your fingers around my penis.”  
  
“I was compromised because I had just had my dick in your _ass._ ”  
  
“Yes, I understand. And that was why I used my hand instead of yours.”  
  
“But does it even count, if it’s your hand and not mine?”  
  
Illya stared at him. “What do you want, touch my penis?”  
  
Well, _actually…_ “Well, actually…”  
  
“You can do it later,” Illya said. He was still holding onto Napoleon’s shoulder and he didn’t seem to be thinking about letting go. “I am very satisfied for now and I do not need your hand on my penis.”  
  
Napoleon opened his mouth to point out that maybe Illya shouldn’t have been calling it a _penis._ That was kind of ruining the mood. But then he thought about it again and realized that his mood was excellent and thinking about Illya’s penis only made it better.  
  
“I like your penis, by the way,” he told Illya.  
  
“Thank you,” Illya said. “I like yours.”  
  
“Thank you,” Napoleon said. “So, do you really think it’d be rude of me if I got out of the bed and went to the bathroom?”  
  
“Do you absolutely need to?”  
  
He kind of did. But Illya’s hand on his shoulder was warm and the sheets were warm and he had a warm feeling inside. “No.”  
  
“Okay,” Illya said, staring at him.  
  
He cleared his throat. “What do you want to do now?”  
  
“The right thing,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon was about to ask what the _right thing_ was. He hoped it wouldn’t involve murdering anyone, because it wasn’t even midday yet and he had just had sex. He wasn’t in the mood. But when he was still thinking about this, Illya pulled him closer until he was kind of squeezed against Illya’s chest. Illya wrapped his arms around his back and entangled their legs. Then he arranged Napoleon’s head so that his nose was pushed against the crook of Illya’s neck. Illya had stubble. Also, he smelled very good. Also, Napoleon couldn’t breathe.  
  
“What?” Illya asked after Napoleon had kicked him a couple of times. After a few more kicks, he let go enough that Napoleon could pull his head back an inch.  
  
“I can’t breathe.”  
  
Illya was quiet for a moment. “That is not good.”  
  
“Yeah, it isn’t,” Napoleon said. He breathed in and pushed his nose back against the crook of Illya’s neck. Then he kissed Illya there.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“What do you mean, what am I doing?”  
  
“You were…” Illya paused.  
  
“What?”  
  
Illya swallowed. Napoleon could feel it on his face, because his face was buried against Illya’s throat. Then he felt something else, which might have been Illya kissing his left ear. “What did you do?”  
  
“Nothing,” Illya said in the tone he had used when Napoleon had asked about the twenty-seven Soviet-made bugs in his sock drawer.  
  
“Peril?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“The next time we do this, I promise I’ll last at least thirty seconds. Maybe even forty-five.”  
  
“Do not worry about that.”  
  
“I’m going to, though.” Not worry, obviously. He didn’t worry about anything. “I’m going to last forty-five seconds and then we can count that as fucking.”  
  
“For the last time,” Illya said, sounding like he was about to lose his patience, “you _fucked_ me. Period.”  
  
“I just had my dick in your ass.”  
  
“That counts as fucking.”  
  
“That doesn’t count as fucking. I should have been able to pull it out and then push it back again.”  
  
“You are the most stubborn American idiot agent I have ever met,” Illya said and kissed Napoleon’s ear again.  
  
“Thank you,” Napoleon said and then thought about something. “Do you want to kiss me on my mouth?”  
  
Illya was quiet for a long time. Napoleon almost got worried. But Gaby was still listening to the radio in the living room and there was an old hit by Duke Ellington on the air, and he got a little distracted trying to remember the name of the song. He hummed the melody and almost forgot that he was in bed with Illya, until Illya cleared his throat and said ‘yes’.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“So,” Gaby said, looking up from the book she was reading. “How was it?”  
  
“Excellent,” Napoleon said. He kind of regretted that he hadn’t bothered to put his boxers on before getting out of the bed and the bedroom. But then again, Gaby had already seen him naked once, when he had been thrown into a river in the middle of a gunfight with an anonymous gangster and later had removed his clothes at the first possible moment so that he wouldn’t freeze.  
  
“I heard you only lasted fifteen seconds,” Gaby said.  
  
Napoleon shrugged. He was just going to go to the bathroom, where he would clean up a little so that he could get back to bed with Illya. He should have known that Illya would be a man who took cuddling very seriously.  
  
“Fifteen seconds counts,” Illya said from the bedroom.  
  
“Well, I’m glad that you finally did it,” Gaby said.  
  
Napoleon nodded. Then he thought about it. Then he stopped. _Goddamn._ He was almost at the bathroom door, but he just couldn’t let it go. “What do you mean, _finally?_ ”  
  
“Hmm,” Gaby said.  
  
“What does she mean,” Illya said from the bedroom, “finally?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Napoleon said.  
  
“I only mean,” Gaby began, looking at the book again, as if Napoleon hadn’t been standing right there in front of her, naked. Napoleon bit his lip. Well, he would go back to Illya in a few minutes. _Illya_ would appreciate him. “I mean that two weeks ago, you two wrestled on the living room floor for no reason at all until you were both breathless and rubbing your dicks against each other’s thighs.”  
  
“It was for exercise,” Napoleon said.  
  
“It was for revenge,” Illya said from the bedroom. “He tried to bug me.”  
  
“I didn’t rub my dick against his thigh.”  
  
“I did not push my penis against any of his body parts,” Illya said from the bedroom, “and besides, it was an accident.”  
  
Gaby sighed. “Anyway, I’m happy for you. And also very frustrated. And also happy. And I think you should go on a date.”  
  
“What?” Napoleon asked.  
  
“What?” Illya asked from the bedroom.  
  
“Why?” Napoleon asked.  
  
“ _Why?_ ” Illya asked from the bedroom.  
  
“No reason,” Gaby said.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Napoleon and Illya went on a date. They had dinner, almost got shot, wrestled with five Swedish spies, and then went home and wrestled with each other in Illya’s bedroom. It was a perfect date. And it wasn’t the last one.


End file.
